The Interpretation of Dreams

Not to go all Freudian on you, but have you ever wondered what your dreams mean?
The other night I had a dream that I was in our old library building.
Now we have this brand spanking new library that is up-to-date, state of the art, but like a lot of contemporary architecture lacks warmth.
Here's the current building:

Lots of room, on a good-sized piece of property (donated by a local family), and room to expand if necessary.
Tons of books, and computers all on one floor.
And I love the library, I do, but it's lacking something.
Kind of like contemporary church structures - big and open, but lacking feeling.
Sure it's a pretty picture, and I love the books, but it doesn't feel cozy.
Our old library was housed in a Victorian home owned by a prominent 19th Century citizen.
Here's the old library which is now the current Village government building:

That extension on  the eastern side was added in the 80s (or 70s, I can't recall exactly), but it was in this building that I really came to love reading.
Outside of my first grade classroom, of course.
The second floor was, and still is, used as the Village museum, so only the ground floor was open to patrons on a daily basis - and oh how cozy it was.
Cramped yes, but definitely cozy.
The main room was filled with oak bookshelves, tables, and chairs, and the librarians always encouraged everyone to take as many books as we wanted. Seriously. I used to go there in the summer for the week-long activities, and I recall one librarian whose name escapes me (but it was a male librarian, I do remember that) who told us that if we wanted we could bring a wagon everyday to the library and fill it with books.
I still think about that when I go to certain libraries and they have a limit as to how much you can check out.
I like libraries with no limits.
But adjacent to the stairs in our old library - and just by the entrance - was where I would always find the books I wanted to read some of which are probably not stocked by libraries anymore.
I would read Rosamund du Jardin's novels over and over - the quintissential 1940s/1950s books about young women and growing up.
Sure, life wasn't like that for me, I was a product of the 70's, but I loved those books - and I still do.
I remember leaning against the staircase and turning the upright book rack looking for a paperback that caught my eye, or browsing through the hardcover books on the built in shelves.
You know how you imprint a certain memory or place in your mind and use that as the basis for all future comparable locations?
That's how it is for me with our old library.
I know that's an unfair distinction, and no libraries look like this one did, but for me, it was the best library ever.
Which probably explains why I dreamt about it.
Only problem is, why was I wearing my bathrobe while I was there?

Blogiversaries and dreams of lives past

So yesterday was my three year blogiversary.
Did I post?
No.
Did I plan to?
Yes.
Did I also plan on falling asleep on the floor while watching NCIS?
Um, the answer to that would be no.
The answer would also be a question: when will this iron supplement finally kick in and keep me from feeling so drained all the time.
Of course I was able to fall asleep again later, never a problem, and I had the strangest dream.
I talked about it with one of my co-workers today, Lou, who happens to be Jewish.
In my dream I had to find some kind of leg braces so people could wear them while sitting shiva, and the braces would force them to sit up straight.
Lou and I talked about what happens when people mourn and sit shiva, and that was good info and all, but it still didn't explain why I had a dream about it.
He said, "Well, it must be coming from one of your past lives when you were a Jew."
I think he's right, and this is coming from a guy who enjoys accounting and budgets, so you do the math about what his sense of humor might be.
I've always thought that I was Jewish in one of my previous lives, or it's possible that I'm experiencing repressed memories from one of my converso ancestors, but with regards to this life, here I am, three years later, still blogging, and with not much to say.
Thanks to all who have been hanging around, and for accepting, and appreciating, my quirkiness.

Bach in the Afterlife

Inside my head is a place you do not want to be.
I think some strange things, sometimes things that even scare or startle me.
But there are days when I wake up that I emerge from sleep with a song in my head.
Have you ever had that happen to you?
The radio is not on, I haven't listened to music while falling asleep, nor while asleep, and I still have a song looping through my dreams and into the moment when I awaken.
Take Saturday for example.
I awoke with Fleet Foxes "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" going through my head over and over.
I haven't listened to that song in a while, and I don't know what would have prompted it.
And I like the song, I know the melody, it's just I don't know all the words, so I'm stuck hearing the melody and repeating the same words constantly.
I like to analyze my dreams and find out what would draw a certain dream in. My mother was complaining about the church I grew up in, and which she still goes to, and how much they have changed. That night I dreamt about the church.
I'm not good at any thing other than simple arithmetic, and I figure 2 + 2 = having a dream.
But I can't explain the musical phenomena.
I had surgery several years ago (11, to be exact), and when I was awakened from the anesthesia, I asked them if they were playing Vivaldi.
The doctor said, no, the radio was set to a soft rock station.
So why was I hearing string ensembles when I was under?
Truthfully, if death is Baroque music, then I'm certainly not scared of it.
I'll have the Brandenburg Concertos for the afterlife appetizer, thank you.

I Need to Stop Walking Around Town in my Nightgown

I had another crazy dream last night.
Well I always have crazy dreams.
But last night I dreamed that I was shopping for groceries and driving around in my nightgown and fortunately I hadn't run into anyone. I saw a girl I knew from work and I thought she hadn't seen me but then she said hi as she was passing.
SOOOO embarassing.
And in my dream I said to myself, "I have to stop walking around town in my nightgown."
Then I thought, "Well here's my next blog post."
Somehow real life and the imaginary one are slowly melding together.
So even though this event never actually happened, I'm still recreating it here for you.
Strange stuff. Strange mind. Be glad you can't see what I see.
Well DH got corralled into being a Marshal at the swim meet being hosted by our swim club in November. He thought it was for one day and it is for both Saturday and Sunday!! Of course when you're sent emails you can ignore them but when they corner you at a swim practice, you really can't run away.
And all a Marshal does is make sure the kids aren't running the halls or hitting someone in the head with a ball while they're waiting for their time to swim.
For about 5 hours each day. Yikes.
Glad he spoke up first.
Ha! (I know he'll read this and say something.)

Nice Dreams

This is about that moment when you're thisclose to waking up and you're involved in a really nice, or cool, dream that you just don't want to leave - and then that damn alarm clock starts squawking and you have to leave the land of make believe.
Yes, today was one of those days.
I love my dreams.
Honestly.
Sometimes I think it would almost be cool to be comatose.
Almost.
Because when I dream it is like having a movie inside my head every night.
I am always entertained, sometimes scared, but always entertained.
And the thing is, I'm not always the main character. Sometimes I literally watch a movie, edited with slow-mo and fade outs and other techniques. It's so cool.
And I know there is music inside my head too, because one time I was having surgery (not on my brain, but darn close, Ms. Proboscisface) and I was listening to Vivaldi. When I came out of the anesthesia I asked the docs if they were listening to a classical station. They said no, their radio was tuned to something else.
So I know there are things going on in my subconscious that only get tapped at night.
Like last night I dreamt I was in a city and I was going to walk home and this chick named Fyodorika Finlandia (don't ask me where that name came from - perhaps something to do with Dostoevsky and the flag of Finland that I saw yesterday) and she said, don't walk home alone, it is unsafe. So she walked home with me, and then I had to go inside and get someone to walk home with her and there were more bizarre things happening, like we drove her home in a wagon pulled by horses, and when we dropped her off she worked at this modeling agency that classified their models as either back door or front door (nothing to do with sex, just how they looked). Strange stuff and really not entertaining for anyone but me.
But waking up from these wacko dreams is the hardest part, because sometimes I just want these dreams to go on.
Alas, they never do, because reality butts in and here I am, hard at work, anxiously awaiting the hour when I can go back to sleep.
And before you start asking questions, no, this post has nothing to do with a Cheech and Chong movie, nor with any of the illegal substances of which they partake.